Why Do They Call It A Green Card When Its Blue
by Linda Atkinson
Summary: Dean is a firefighter who recently lost his home due to a fire. Castiel is a bohemian Russian immigrant who overstayed his Visa. Dean needs a place to live; Cas needs a Green Card…A match made in Heaven? Slash!Ahoy!


Why Do they Call It a Green Card, When It's Really Blue

Author: linda92595

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairings and Characters: Dean/Castiel, Various others, brief mention of past Dean/Lisa

Rating: NC-17 eventually

Word Count: 13,798

Warnings: M/M sex, anal, oral, Bottom!Castiel, enough sugar to rot your teeth. Think 5.4 pot smoking hippie Castiel.

Summary: Dean is a firefighter who recently lost his home due to a fire. Castiel is a bohemian Russian immigrant who overstayed his Visa. Dean needs a place to live; Cas needs a Green Card…A match made in Heaven?

The insistent clamoring of an alarm brought the young man out of a sound sleep. He rolled over scrambling for the pair of jeans he had discarded by the bed when he had tumbled in three hours earlier. Growling under his breath Dean Winchester, one of Los Angeles Fire Department's finest, scrabbled into his clothes, jeans and long-sleeved Henley, heavy hiking boots and a battered leather jacket all scattered across the floor of his claustrophobic bedroom in his one room studio in West Hollywood. And boy how had his younger brother teased him mercilessly for moving into the openly gay neighborhood. But Dean had merely scoffed. The place was meticulously clean and close to Station 51. The Fire Station Dean had been assigned to when he had taken this job and moved from their hometown of Lawrence, Kansas to the City of Angels.

Smoke was already beginning to obscure his surroundings as Dean desperately tried to find the minimal amount of belongings he could salvage and still make it out of the place with his life intact. Finally, he managed to find both his phone and his wallet, tucking both into the rear pockets of his jeans.

Scrambling across the room the young man clawed a desk drawer open seizing a small metal lock box and a set of keys. The keys disappeared into the front pocket of his jeans and Dean tucked the box under an arm. Coughing now, nose running he raced to the door of his apartment laying hand on the smooth painted surface. The door was cool to the touch so he slammed it open barging out into the hall.

An elderly woman was milling around in the hall pressing the hem of her faded flannel housecoat to her nose, Dean paused in his rush for the fire door at the end of the hall and the staircase beyond gently grasping her by the arm.

"Mrs. Claussen, it's a fire. We have to evacuate the building." Dean said trying to steer her along.

Mrs. Claussen balked, "I can't go. My husband is inside, how can I get him out, Mr. Winchester."

Grunting Dean pulled up short. "I thought Mr. Claussen was in the hospital."

She sighed, "He was but the insurance said he had to come home. So he's in bed here."

Shoving his lockbox into the elderly woman's hands Dean pushed the door to their apartment open and was met with a wall of flames. He hissed in pain as the knob seared his hand. Letting go quickly Dean turned back, "Did you leave the kettle on too long again? I've told you about checking the burners on the stove before you go to bed."

She stared a little vacantly at him, and Dean hissed a curse under his breath, "Mrs. Claussen, head down the hall to the stairs and wait for me at the door, but don't open it."

Far off into the distance Dean could hear the sirens of the approaching first responders. Probably dispatch and sent 51, that meant weekend shift …Victor Hendrickson and Captain Singer, among them. Taking a deep breath of polluted air Dean charged into the apartment grasping a wool throw off the back of the sofa and leaping across the sheet of dancing flames.

He could just make out the gaping doorway and the smoke filled bedroom at the end of the hall. Wrapping the blanket firmly around his head and neck Dean plunged into the darkened room taking the briefest moment to scout out the lay of the land before running up to the bed.

The old man was limp, blue and not moving when Dean reached out, but he stirred listlessly as Dean struggled to scoop him up. Mr. Claussen was old, wiry and bony and Dean was grateful for his skinny frame. Tugging as much of the sheet as he could around the old man's bony body Dean backed away from the bed and out into the hall.

The fire was thicker now a swirling mass of reds and golds, but still thin enough that Dean was willing to take a chance with both his life and the old man's. Another deep breath and he clutched the bundle in his arms tighter then made a quick staggering run through the flames.

The blanket on his head caught fire and Dean shrugged it off, feeling the heat coil against his back. His skin felt tight and he cringed knowing he had burns, but they made it through the flames then across the room and out into the hall.

A cluster of figures stood at the end of the hall, and Dean immediately recognized the yellow coats of Station 51. A respirator was pressed against his face and Dean got his first lungful of clean, unpolluted air since going into the Claussen's home. He sagged in relief not fully knowing just how oxygen starved his lungs were until they were filled.

Another fire fighter relieved Dean of his burden and he staggered across the hall intercepting the elderly woman to retrieve his box before allowing himself to be escorted down the stairs and out into the cool night air.

Sitting on the tailgate of the ambulance from Mercy General with his metal box wedged between the soles of his boots Dean watched as the D shift of Station 51 knocked the roof off his apartment building tumbling what was left of his belongings into the dirt, soot and ash filled floor below.

Captain Bobby Singer crossed the parking lot with a harried look on his face. He motioned three men around the truck with axes and hoses. Dean watched the men head back into the burning building. Rising Dean caught the captain by the arm, "If you got extra gear, I'll go in."

"No way Winchester, you just came off a five day shift. Besides we got this and you've got first degree burns on your back and neck as well as your right hand. Suck up some oxygen and let the paramedics get you squared away."

Dean nodded turning back but the captain caught him by the arm, "You did good, with the old guy. If you hadn't gone in when you did he'd be dead right about now. The smoke almost got him."

As the Captain moved purposefully across the parking lot shouting at several of the fire fighters still manning the hoses wetting down the still smoldering embers of the apartment building Dean settled down. Pulling the oxygen mask hanging around his shoulders up for a breath of clean air he spotted the blue uniform clad figure of Ash, one of the paramedics, bobbing along as the younger man headed over to give Dean a quick once over.

Ash smiled at him running a hair through his Redneck mullet, then pointing a finger at Dean, "Hey how ya doin' boss?"

Dean grunted noncommittally. "Okay," he finally growled when it appeared that the paramedic was not likely to leave him the hell alone any time soon. Turning toward the burnt out husk of the building Dean followed the other man's line of sight. Ash sighed heavily shaking his head, "So you lost your house to a fire."

"Yeah," Dean snapped, "Tell me something I don't know."

"Well," Ash said drawing the vowels out longer than Dean thought was strictly necessary, "I mean I just it's just…"

"Ironic?" Dean provided. Ash nodded slapping him on the shoulder.

"Yeah…yeah that's it. I guess that irony is pretty damned ironic, ain't it?"

"Ash, go away before I have to hurt you."

"You're pretty laid up there. I bet I can out run you." Ash scoffed waving a hand in front of Dean's face. Cursing under his breath Dean threw his shoulders back and shoved the oxygen mask off. Ash took two steps back shooting Dean his best shit-eating grin.

"I think I'll go tend the old folks."

"You do that." Dean replied glaring in his general direction.

In the end Dean refused to be transported to the hospital. He walked across the street to his car, dropping the metal box inside. Staring at the fire truck slowly pulling away from the curb he ran a hand over his eyes. A quick glance in the rear seat and Dean found his gym bag. He had a pair of sweat pants and two t-shirts tucked into the bag along with bath essentials including a spare toothbrush and razor. He also had two pairs of underwear and a swimsuit. That along with a couple of pairs of jeans and some sneakers at the station comprised the sum total of all his worldly possessions, not counting the pink slip to his car and the various important papers tucked safely into the little fireproof metal box sitting on the front seat.

Well, there was no point in worrying about it that night. Dean still had three days off and some time before his next shift to go shopping to start replacing things. At least he still had his phone and wallet. Now it was time to find a hotel room and tomorrow he would start looking for a new place.

Castiel Kuryakin ducked down the street glancing over his shoulder at the black and white police cruiser idling at the intersection of Fifth and Vine. He walked quickly from the stoop of the old apartment building past the fire station on the corner toward the strip mall and the Starbucks on the corner. He kept his head down and his shoulders hunched, his beige trench coat swirling around his knees as the wind kicked up causing him to shiver.

In this neighborhood of Russian immigrants and gay activists no one would find Castiel's suspicion of the police in any way unusual. Many of them had experienced the fear of being under the scrutiny of the authorities, either personally or through a family member and the young man was a noted dissident, after all as most of the old folks would tell you. Castiel did nothing to dissuade any of his elderly neighbors that that was, in fact, the reason he feared the police and not the expired Visa weighing heavily on his mind.

The cold wind blew across the street catching Castiel's coat making it flutter and flap like wings. Quickly he tugged the door to the coffee shop open scurrying inside. With a sigh Castiel made his way to the counter stopping behind the broad flannel clad back of the first patron in line. Casting a shrewd glance at the other man Castiel admired his tall, stocky body and broad shoulders. The man's dark blond hair seem mussed, only half attended too, and yet it was nowhere near as messy as Castiel's own mop of dark brown locks.

Pausing the Russian took in the long length of the man's frame a few inches taller than himself and smiled. As if he was suddenly aware of the careful scrutiny of man behind him the other customer turned and Castiel flinched.

Dean felt the prickle of someone staring at him from behind. The dull itch began at the nape of his neck and traveled down the length of his spine until his entire body was thrumming with nervous energy, already on edge from the events of the night before he growled under his breath swinging around.

The man behind Dean cringed as if he expected to be struck and Dean pulled up short. The guy standing in line behind him was the most beautiful man the fire fighter had ever seen. Dean was captured by a pair of the biggest, bluest eyes in existence. The man's pale face was framed by dark brown messy hair that made him look like he had just gotten out of bed and was ready to be tumbled right back in again.

Shifting nervously the smaller man stared up at Dean with huge unblinking eyes. Finally, Dean coughed nervously glancing away. He turned back to the cashier and gave his order watching surreptitiously out of the corner of his eye as the other man paid for his coffee and wandered out of the shop heading back down the street.

Dean slouched over his cup sipping the hot coffee and picking at a pastry as he ran a finger down the columns of the morning LA Times. He had abandoned most of the newspaper turning the classified ads over until he could find the section on Apartments for rent. Most of the prices were considerably more than he had been paying at the Shady Grove Apartment, although the building had been neither shady nor anywhere near any kind of groves, and Dean groaned. He had lived in his building for going on six years, and the owners had never once raised his rent. Now faced with the prices of Los Angeles accommodations Dean realized that he was seriously underpaid. There was no way, on his current salary, that he could afford any of the places listed.

With a defeated sigh Dean crumpled the paper in one hand tossing it half-heartedly at the trash can in the corner of the room, and turned back to his coffee. Well, he worked a four day on three day off shift most of the time; it was only a fluke that he had four days off this week, and that meant that he would be going into four days at the station come Monday morning. His renters insurance was covering a hotel for the weekend, which meant he would just have to do some serious footwork to find a place, clean enough, and more importantly, cheap enough to survive in for a while.

Dean sighed getting up and leaving the Starbucks. Wandering aimlessly down the street he came to the fire station. Engine 51, the reason Station 51 had its name, was parked outside on the big cement turn around leading into the bay doors. Victor Hendrickson and several others were washing the big truck down laughing as they sloshed water around. Dean shivered as he watched them work. Finally, the men noticed their fellow fire fighter and motioned him over.

"Hey, Dean," Hendrickson said noncommittally, he and Dean had a tenuous relationship at best. They could be civil to each other for the sake of peace and quiet at the station but neither man really cared for the other one. Dean took a sponge making a few half-hearted swipes at the side of the engine. "So what're you doing down here on a day off."

Shrugging Dean dropped the sponge in the big white paint bucket at his feet, "Lookin' for a place. Got to find somewhere; I don't think the old Grove would pass a building inspection even fixed up as good as new."

"Yeah," Derrick Rodriguez added, "The old place had been around for a while. You were lucky to get in when you did. But it was really only a matter of time."

"It was clean enough and close enough not to have to fight the freeway traffic every time I had to get in," Dean said sullenly. Derrick patted his shoulder comfortingly. Dean shrugged him off with a grin.

"There's a couple of old buildings down the street, walking distance." Victor said. "Kinda old but real nice. Maybe they have a place."

"Yeah," Dean nodded, "I'll check 'em out."

With a put upon sigh Dean walked across the cement and down the sidewalk. He made a quick right at the end of the block and walked another five minutes down the side street until he came to an old yellow brick building.

It looked like it might have been a school dormitory at one time, maybe in the thirties because it was an old building, but immaculately maintained. His fire fighter's training helped him size up the square footage and divide the old school into four roomy apartments. He could see the different window hangings on the front upper and lower floors demarking the four living areas of the apartments.

Standing back Dean surveyed the front entrance, huge double metal doors with thick frosted glass reminiscent of the old school buildings he had seen in movies. Still the place was neat and quiet, no loud music or blaring TVs. Leaning against the metal banister leading up the short flight of cement stairs to the entry way Dean thought about the tenants, older people most likely. But most of the tenants of the old Grove building had been elderly and mostly good neighbors. He certainly didn't mind being among the "youngster" in the building. Snorting Dean moved to the door and found it locked.

There was a buzzer at the side and Dean picked out the number for the building superintendent. He rang the buzzer and was rewarded with a heavily accented voice, "Yes…you want?"

"What?" Dean asked dumbfounded for a moment. The voice uttered a short sharp sound that might have been a curse in some unknown language, "Who do you want to see?"

"The rental office?" Dean asked hesitantly. The voice muttered then hissed.

"No rental office, owners only."

The doors swung open with a resounding clang and Dean flinched. He whirled only to come face to face with the blue eyed man from the coffee shop. The smaller man stalked forward, "What you not understand in English? No renters in building. No renters and no sublets, okay. Only people who buy apartment lives here."

Dean took a step backward until his rear end was pressed against the wall and still the smaller man came forward invading Dean's personal space with a vengeance. The dark head tipped back the inch or so Dean was taller staring right into the other man's eyes. They stood chest to chest eyes locked and Dean felt his groin tightening in a not entirely unwelcome way. He swallowed loudly.

Suddenly the other man cast a shrewd glance at the fire fighter. Dean felt distinctly uncomfortable under the hard stare, but he refused to back down gazing levelly at the odd blue eyed man. With a smile the smaller man stepped forward thrusting out a hand.

Dean awkwardly shook the proffered hand and the other man smiled, "My name is Castiel Kuryakin, please to come inside for coffee, yes?"

"Uhhh," Dean said then he mentally slapped himself for sounding like an idiot. But if Castiel noticed the hesitation he didn't show it. Finally Dean shrugged.

"Sure, okay."

Once they entered the building Dean began surreptitiously glancing around. The halls were neat and clean, paint fresh… floor polished to a shine. He relaxed; the place was looking better and better. Castiel led the taller man down the hall to an ornately carved oak door, pushing it open. Apparently he had left his apartment unlocked while talking to Dean outside, that also boded well. Safe neighbors were a definite plus in Dean's tally of things he really liked about the building.

Ensconced on Castiel's couch Dean waited as patiently as he could for the other man to return from the kitchen bearing a tray with mugs and a plate of cookies. Castiel settled down in an overstuffed side chair sipping at his mug. He made a vague waving gesture toward the plate, "Eat."

Once they had eaten in silence for a few moments Castiel narrowed his eyes glancing up at Dean through thick, dark lashes. Dean wasn't certain but he felt that the other man was trying, unsuccessfully, to be seductive. He chuckled and Castiel glared.

"I have proposition for you," Castiel said slowly. "You need place to live, I can provide this but I need something too.'

Dean waggled his eyebrows, "And just what would that be?"

Now Castiel rolled his eyes. "As you can tell I am not American…"

"The hell you say," Dean snorted. Castiel shot him a doleful look then continued as if he had not been interrupted.

"/Several years ago I came from Moscow to visit my bubbe…"

"Your what?'

Castiel sighed, "My babushka. My father's…mother."

"Oh your grandmother," Dean provided and Castiel nodded.

"Yes, I came from Russia to visit my grandmother," Castiel tried the word rolling it around on his tongue in a way that made Dean's mouth water. "When she died she gave me this place. So I never went back to Russia."

"Uhmmm huh," Dean said, "And this affects me how?"

"Do you want place to live…rent free for couple of months? Save money for a new place."

Dean nodded tightly, "Why?"

Castiel raised a hand making a pfft sound, "I may have over stayed my Visa… little bit." He held up a hand making a little pinching motion.

"Little bit how long?" Dean asked copying the motion to which the other man glowered. Clearing his throat Dean added "How is that possible? Didn't someone come looking for you?"

"Seven years." Castiel said sighing. "I worked for Russian government, in the Visa office. So it might have looked like I had permanent papers."

"So you're some conman who screwed with the Russian government."

"No… no, well…maybe."

"Little bit?" Dean asked with a mocking grin, and the other man shot him a look that would have frosted a live volcano.

Without deigning to reply Castiel continued, "But I also help many people get Visa to relocate to less hostile place."

"For a price I bet." Dean snorted, "So why not just go back and get another Visa."

"Well," Castiel coughed, "Maybe not all papers I process for people work out well."

"So there's a bunch of pissed off people with bad exit documents looking for you in old Mother Russia? Great not only are you a conman you're a liar and a thief."

"I am not liar and thief!" Castiel protested hotly. Dean shot him a look.

"Have you ever been accused of fraud, theft and forgery?"

Castiel sniffed, "All at same time?"

Dean laughed, and Castiel glared, "You know, you remind me a lot of my bubbe except not so mean."

"Anyway,'' Dean said quickly, "You over stayed your Visa and you can't go back to Russian without somebody shankin' your ass."

"I don't understand that reference," Castiel said and Dean blinked raising a hand he made a slashing gesture across his throat.

"Ahh…yes …that I understand. Is right. So if you want to move here I need husband."

"What now?"

"You live here free; we go to Seattle, Washington; get married. I get green-card in one…two months. We get divorced. Simple."

Dean sat back blinking. Slowly he surveyed the other man. Castiel was slender, the dark jeans and navy blue sweatshirt he was wearing bringing out the blue of his eyes. His smooth pale skin was shiny with a thin sheen of perspiration. Then Dean glanced around at the apartment, the tall ceilings and the floor to ceiling windows showing the dark green of the lush lawn beyond the front of the building. The place was miles above anything that Dean could find on short notice and within walking distance of the station, too.

Castiel was sitting on the chair across from Dean's seat on the sofa. He leaned forward expectantly smiling as if encouraging Dean along in his decision, although something in his face made Dean believe that the other man had already made up his mind that Dean was going to do this thing. Dean sighed thoroughly caught in the Russian's blue, blue eyes.

Finally Dean shrugged, "I guess it would be okay."

Castiel leapt off the chair grinning widely, "More than okay! You see, it will be okie dokie…huh is that good word?"

Laughing Dean found himself caught up in Castiel's enthusiasm. Shaking his head Dean said, "Yeah, it's a great word.''

Castiel disappeared into the dark recesses of the kitchen and Dean could hear the freezer door open, followed by the click of a cabinet and the clatter of glasses. The Russian came back into the living room with a bottle of Stoli and two crystal highball glasses. He slipped one of the glasses onto the table in front of Dean and opened the bottle.

The crisp, frigid taste of the Vodka hit Dean like a ton of bricks. His head spun just from smelling the stuff but Castiel downed his shot chuckling gleefully. Quickly he pulled out his phone and began working his way through apps before settling on one. Dean cocked his head, not being all that fond of the IPhone. But Castiel seemed to take to it like a duck to water. The smaller man looked up and grinned "I make purchase plane tickets."

"Who taught you to speak English?" Dean asked. Castiel shot him a look.

"I speak better English than you speak Russian."

"I don't speak Russian at all," Dean pointed out helpfully. Castiel leaned across the space between the chair and sofa poking Dean in the chest with a finger.

"So shut up."

By midnight they were ensconced in the cabin of the Jet Blue flight on the eleven forty-five flight to Seattle. Castiel had bitched non-stop about having to fly coach but Dean was still shocked at how much the tickets had cost. When he had dutifully offered to cough up the cash for his ticket the other man had given him the stink eye then said, "I have money…don't worry."

Dean had asked sarcastically, "Do I want to know how you got the money?"

To which Castiel had rolled his eyes and replied. "Probably not."

Now with the whine of the big engines in the air and the walls of the cabin vibrating as the plane rolled out onto the tarmac Dean felt his throat go dry despite the three bottles of water and the Dramamine Cas had shoved at him. Nervously he shifted in his seat tugging at the belt across his lap. Castiel glanced over at his seatmate raising an eyebrow in silent query. Dean swallowed hard, "Uhmmm, I probably should have mentioned this before, but I don't really do planes."

"Well, you do plane today. I'm not getting off this thing. You said you go to Seattle and get married."

Dean nodded, "Well it seemed like a fine idea at the time. But…"

Castiel shook his head violently grasping Dean by the arm in a grip so firm it had the larger man cringing. Dean was sure he probably had a bruise the shape of Castiel's hand on his bicep. Shaking Dean's arm Castiel snapped, "No! No 'but'…we go now."

And the big jet rolled forward toward the shiny asphalt gleaming in the halogen lights lining the run way. Cocking his head Castiel smiled when the engines cranked up a notch and the jet lurched forward. The sudden change in altitude hit Dean like a physical blow and he grunted fingers clasping the cold, slim digits of the other man's hand.

"Oh god!" Dean gasped then shot his companion a look, "Sorry, I forgot communists are atheists."

Castiel shrugged, "I'm not communist. We haven't been communist in Russia since nineteen ninety-one. Besides my family is Russian Orthodox. Big on God; the whole damned bunch."

"So I guess you want a church wedding?" Dean asked. Castiel just shrugged again.

"No matter to me. Married is married."

"Yeah, but…" Dean persisted, "Aren't Catholics against divorce?"

Castiel nodded, "Ehh, they aren't too fond of homosexuals either, but I got over that. I can deal with being divorced."

The flight landed without a hitch and Dean breathed a huge sigh of relief. Castiel kept staring at him as unblinking as an owl, and it started to creep Dean out a little. Still he had agreed to this and here, in Seattle, a thousand miles from home it was a little late to be having second thoughts.

Dean kept his mind firmly anchored on the huge airy apartment with the ten foot ceilings and the huge widows and vibrant green lawns. Besides he was a lot heavier and a few inches taller than the Russian, just in case he turned out to be some kind of KGB agent or an escaped lunatic. But Castiel didn't do anything too outrageous in the cab to the hotel and he seemed as normal as pie showering and dressing in a ratty grey sweatshirt and pajama pants for bed.

Dean lay in the big double bed across the aisle from Castiel listening to the other man snuffle and mutter in his sleep. He was quiet for a while and Dean found himself drifting off to the faint sounds of late night Seattle traffic and erratically mumbled Russian interspersed with English about a drug deal gone bad.

He awoke the next day promptly at nine in the morning and Dean counted it as a win. At least the crazy Russian hippie hadn't murdered him in his sleep. In fact Castiel was in the shower from the sound of it and just as Dean's bladder made itself known the bathroom door swung open caromed off the wall and Castiel wandered into the room stark raving naked, skin still moist and glowing pink from the hot water. Dean felt his bladder retreat in face of his dick making hopeful noises about getting laid and wriggling like a happy puppy. Dean ignored both his bladder and his cock throwing a pillow across the room as Castiel casually scratched his ass.

"Dude!" Dean scowled, "Cover it up."

"Why?" the Russian said in an exasperated tone of voice, "You are marrying it this morning. Shouldn't you at least see it before the wedding unless you want to take it for a test drive, aye?"

"What?" Dean asked stilling, because that was something he hadn't thought about, Sex. Not that he was adverse to sex with another man, because his experiences had been wide and wonderful since he had lost his virginity to Amy Bradshaw in the tenth grade under the bleachers behind the football field. Still…Dean considered. Castiel was way easy on the eyes. His body smooth and firm beneath the baggy clothes he habitually wore, and Dean's dick was still doing the happy dance.

"I've got to piss like a race horse," he muttered. Castiel thumbed his own cock and stoked it a little making it rise and take notice of the goings on in the room. Dean took a deep breath, and then reached out tracing his fingertips along the other man's arm. "I'll be right back."

Dean hurried into the bathroom peeing quickly and then washing his hands. Hr considered the man in the other room and swished water in his mouth hoping to rid himself of morning breath. When he kicked the bathroom door open he drew to a halt breath catching in his chest.

Castiel was standing at the foot of the bed masturbating leisurely his cock flushed red and glistening with pre-come. Dean scrambled across the room grabbing the smaller man by the hips and pulling him around so that they were face to face. Castiel's dick seemed to approve of him being manhandled because it jumped and stiffened even more. A low growl issued from his throat and Castiel leaned forward licking and biting at the curve between Dean's neck and shoulder.

Dropping to his knees Dean leaned in tonguing at the smaller man's belly button and Castiel laughed tangling his fingers in Dean's hair and pushing him downward. Taking a deep breath Dean nibbled at the head of Castiel's dick then leaned forward taking him in. He lifted one hand wrapping it around the base of the Russian's cock steadying himself with a hand on the other man's hip. Castiel muttered something in Russian that sounded vaguely encouraging so Dean figured he was doing okay. Castiel worked Dean's grip on his hip loose then proceeded to suck Dean's fingers until they were slick and shiny with spit. Then he twisted ever so slightly, "Dean put your fingers inside me."

Dean complied, shoving the two digits in to the hilt and Castiel yelped but he rocked his hips back immediately growling and grunting for a few minutes until his back arched, "Dean…oh God, Dean, I'm going to come."

Dean pulled away not sure about swallowing under the circumstances, but he grabbed Castiel's cock giving it a twist and jerked hard. The smaller man came with a shout, come dripping over Dean's fingers. He sagged grasping at Dean's shoulders with trembling hands before dropping on his belly on the floor, propping himself on his hands and knees, and taking Dean's aching dick into his mouth.

Apparently Castiel had no gag reflex and Dean sank in hitting the back of his throat with a grin. Humming in approval he thrust in experimentally and when Castiel didn't object fucked his mouth fairly hard. Castiel leaned in swallowing but letting Dean do all the work, until Dean grasped his chin pulling back and shooting all over the Russian's chest.

Castiel sighed dropping onto his haunches on the thickly carpeted floor. Dean stood over him panting until his heart rate dropped to near normal. Castiel looked up at him from under his thick, dark lashes and mocked slapped Dean on the thigh, "Why you come on me? Now I have to take shower again."

Chuckling Dean hauled the other man to his feet, "We can both fit in the shower. Come on I'll scrub your back."

"Blowjob and back scrub. I could get used to this."

They made it through breakfast at lightning speed and headed to the courthouse to pick up forms. There was a line and Castiel stood with his phone in his hands the entire time. Dean caught him playing Angry Birds despite the fact that Castiel proclaimed he was checking his e-mail and tweeting the wedding for his friends in LA. Dean just rolled his eyes and shook his head until the other man blushed crimson tucking the phone into his pocket. Castiel kept sneaking glances at it unapologetically even while Dean was filling in the application.

Armed with his Russian birth certificate, passport and a California State ID card, because apparently Castiel couldn't drive, the smaller man hurriedly scribbled his information on the marriage license forms beneath Dean's.

The ceremony itself took only a few minutes and when they were done Dean gallantly took the other man by the arm and kissed him briefly. They smiled at the judge's clerk who took an awkwardly posed photo on an ancient Kodak instant camera and handed it to them.

The rest of the day the two spent shuttling from various offices at the County buildings and immigration where Castiel filed his paperwork for his resident alien registration card. Dean answered questions cautiously aware that what they were doing wasn't exactly legal but they seemed to satisfy the clerks in the various government buildings and came out with their skins and Castiel's preliminary, temporary Visa intact. The clerk at the immigration office did warn them to expect a visit from the local offices once they got back to Los Angeles, and both men smiled and nodded.

When the plane touched down at LAX Dean felt like crawling off and kissing the runway. The flight back had been a nightmare. Turbulence had beset the plane almost as soon as they had taken off. Dean had spent half of the two hour flight either clinging to Castiel's hand or puking his guts out. The Russian had consoled him as best as he could, offering water and Dramamine, and finally a shoulder to rest on when all else failed. Dean had been absurdly grateful to the other man for rescuing him from Jet Blue hell especially since the flight attendants had been less than sympathetic, and several other passengers had damn near caused a riot tossing carry-on bags at each other and cursing violently. Castiel whispered confidentially that he was of the opinion that Jet Blue put some kind of drugs in their air-recycling system. Dean didn't doubt him.

Two days on a plane and not enough sleep made Dean a cranky boy. He and Castiel made it back to the apartment and Dean grumbled about having to go back to work the next day. He had carefully explained his four days on three days off schedule to the other man and Castiel had nodded that he understood. Since he worked from home the Russian had no problems with Dean's coming and going. It would all be the same to him.

Castiel had said he would call the Los Angeles immigration office to set up their home visit and carefully noted Dean's work schedule in his day runner on his phone. Dean grunted that he wanted to get some sleep and Castiel showed him both the master bedroom and the smaller guest room.

Since they had slept together at the hotel and since the sex had been great Dean was not averse to sleeping in the same room, under the guise that it would be more realistic for the immigration officer. Castiel had shot him a smug grin and Dean flushed.

It was past midnight four days later when Dean finally dragged himself back to the apartment. He was fifthly despite having taken a shower at the station, and aching after a four alarm fire on Wilshire Boulevard had turned into a six alarm fire when the building collapsed catching the neighboring building ablaze.

Dean stripped off his boots at the door then shed his clothes as he crossed the room keeping his shirt and jeans tucked under his arm. The apartment was dimly lit only the hall light leading into the backroom, master bedroom and bath, still lit. The door to the bedroom was open and he could just make out the twisted bundle of sheets and blankets that was Castiel. The other man's thick dark hair was poking up in all directions just over the top of the covers.

As quietly as possible Dean crept across the bedroom and snuck into the bath area. He smiled when he noticed that Castiel had left several thick towels and Dean's favorite body scrub on the vanity between the two sinks along with a jar of pain relief salve and a bottle of Tylenol on top of a folded sheet of note paper.

He flicked the note open as he ran the tub full of hot water. Castiel's neat, precise school-house block printing covered the sheet, "There are steak sandwiches from deli, donuts from Krispy Kreme, and beer in refrigerator. If you are hungry. I left plate and fork on table. In kitchen." Dean chuckled softly; he could almost hear the Russian's thick accent in his head as he read the note.

Dean woke the next morning to the smell of bacon frying and the sound of Castiel arguing loudly with someone on his ever present phone. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes he checked the bedside clock and was surprised to see it was almost ten o'clock. He hadn't slept that well after coming off a hard shift in a long time. Rolling over he caught a whiff of Castiel's scent on the pillow next to him and inhaled deeply, savoring the crisp almost ozone scent that the other man always seemed to have around him.

Sometime during the night Dean had awoken to Castiel clinging to him like a limpet. The smaller man was burning hot, and Dean had shrugged away long enough to toss his tee-shirt onto the floor. Now the cooler air of the room made him shiver and Dean groped around under the bed for his shirt as he slipped out of bed.

Castiel caught sight of him coming out of the hall and cut off his call. Dean frowned and the other man raised a hand, "Sorry…I did not mean to wake you."

"It's okay; I haven't slept that well in a long time. Thanks for all the stuff you did; it was nice coming in to that."

"Well, you have hard job." Castiel offered. Dean made a quick nod at the phone still clutched in the other man's hand.

"So who was that? Drug dealer or pimp?" he asked snidely. Castiel rolled his eyes.

"No pimp…I haven't been hooker in long time." He said drily. Dean flushed and Castiel quickly added, "Just kidding…I'm not hooker. That was editor."

"Editor?" Dean echoed and Castiel took him by the arm leading him over to a bookshelf lining one wall of the living room. It contained a shelf of pristine paperbacked books and Castiel slid one out carefully. Dean checked the title, "_Supernatural…The Woman in White_." It read. "You read these?"

Castiel scoffed waving a hand, "I write these."

"Hey, I've seen these in the bookshop down the street. The one run by that weird little guy."

"Chuck," Castiel provided. "He sells all my books."

"All," Dean asked cocking his head. "There has to be what…twenty books here."

"Twenty-two. I have negotiations with studio for rights to make TV show based on books."Castiel said, "Big money."

"I didn't know I was marrying somebody famous."

Castiel shrugged, "Not famous, not like Stephen King anyway, but maybe someday. They keep roof over head and food on table."

Dean grinned at the other man and Castiel offered him that shy little half-smile that Dean found so totally endearing that he felt his stomach ache. He brushed a hand over the smaller man's back and Castiel turned into the touch like a cat. Dean could almost hear him purring. He swallowed hard again feeling that strange little twist in his middle.

Clearing his throat Dean said, "Hey, Cas…I need to go down to the Galleria and pick up some stuff to tide me over until my insurance settlement check gets here. You feel up to making it a day?"

Castiel cocked his head, "How did you call me?"

Blushing Dean shrugged, "Uhhh Cas. It's just a nickname, sorry."

"No, I like it. I never had nickname before. It sounds way American." The other man replied with a smile. Dean grinned, throwing an arm loosely around Castiel's shoulder. Castiel glanced up at him with that odd little almost smile. "Okay we go to mall now. Should I call cab?"

"Hell no, my car's right outside. Let's get lunch out and then hit the mall hard."

Later that night the two returned to the apartment carrying half a dozen bags from various clothing stores at the Galleria. Dean had kept to LLBean and Sears for good old fashioned jeans but Castiel had more esoteric tastes ranging from Banana Republic to Hot topic although Dean maintained that no one over the age of seventeen should be caught dead in the place. Still the smaller man was slender of build and the odd bondage jeans although passé fit him like a glove. Albeit a metal studded and chained glove.

Castiel also had a smaller bag secreted in his Banana Republic bag that he steadfastly refused to let Dean see. And he kept smiling smugly every time the other man tried to snatch the bag away from him; and while he was small and slender he was also quick and dodged Dean successfully at every turn.

Dean veered off into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee while Castiel stood in the center of the living room checking his e-mail on his ubiquitous IPhone. Dean just snorted shaking his head.

Castiel came into the room settling down at the breakfast table while Dean piled a couple of spoons of sugar and poured cream into Castiel's cup settling it beside his elbow. Then Dean turned for his own mug of rich black brew. Frowning he sat down wondering just when he had learned how Cas liked his coffee.

Castiel smiled shoving the phone in Dean's face, "Immigration lady coming next Friday. You have off?"

"Uhhh, yeah, I work Monday through Thursday so that works out great. So is this our only meeting?"

"If we pass, yeah then she process my permanent alien registration and I am legal in country." Castiel sighed, "That will be glorious day, you bet."

"Yeah, I bet," Dean said frowning. Castiel looked ecstatic but Dean felt a little tug of something deep inside, and somehow the other man's smiling face left him feeling cold. Jumping up Castiel tugged on Dean's arm until the larger man rose unsteadily to his feet. With a naughty come hither look on his face the Russian lead Dean down the hall to the bed room. Wagging his eyebrows Castiel pushed Dean toward the bed smirking then grabbed the bag he had brought in from the mall and headed into the bathroom, tossing a sultry "Don't look" over his shoulder.

Sighing Dean stripped as quickly and efficiently as he could before crawling onto the bed. There was a rustling of tissue paper and some muttered Russian which Dean supposed was cursing then the sound of Castiel dropping his clothes into the hamper.

"Cover eyes!" Castiel hissed and Dean turned but all he could see what the other man's head poking out of the bathroom door. Making and 'okay' gesture with his hand Dean settled back on the pillow clamping his fingers firmly over his eyes. He could hear the whisper of Castiel's feet over the carpet then felt the bed dip down. Suddenly Castiel's fingers were on his arm, making little swirling motions up and down his biceps. Dean felt his dick go hard.

Chuckling Castiel lifted his hand to Dean's face then slowly gripped his fingers gently pulling them away. Dean gaped. The Russian was dressed in a blue silk camisole and panties from Victoria's Secret. His dick was straining at the scrap of deep blue lace making a dark wet spot on the gleaming silky surface.

Reaching out Dean grasped Castiel by the arm pulling him closer. The smaller man sashayed forward grabbing one of Dean's knees in each hand spreading his legs. Dean stroked Castiel's back then gripped his hips tight enough to leave red marks maneuvering the smaller man until their groins were pressed together. Castiel gasped dragging his fingertips down the length of Dean's arm then tapping his hip. Dean crawled backwards onto the bed pulling the other man along with him.

Castiel clambering over Dean straddling his hips then leaning down to catch the other man's mouth in a searing kiss. Quickly he flicked his tongue into the recesses of Dean's mouth rolling his hips at the same time. Dean could hear a long moan but he wasn't sure if it was him or Castiel who was doing the groaning.

Leaning over Castiel reached into the drawer on the bedside table pulling out a box of condoms and a bottle of Astroglide. Quickly he flipped open the lid pouring a generous dollop of lube onto Dean's abdomen. Dean flinched grinning, then he moaned again as Castiel scraped his fingers through the lube reaching behind himself to his entrance. Dean watched entranced as the smaller man prepped himself eyes fluttering closed in ecstasy as he worked himself open.

When he was finished with himself Castiel ripped the condom packet open with his teeth before rolling the condom onto Dean's cock with quick fingers. He gave the other man a firm stroke and Dean bucked up into his touch. Then Castiel threw his leg across Dean's thighs and mounted him. He wasted no time sinking down so quickly that Dean thought he might not last a full minute. He bit the inside of his cheek hoping the pain would keep him in check long enough for the Russian to ride him, and Castiel set a punishing pace.

Grunting Dean grasped the other man's narrow hips and gave his hips a vicious twist. Castiel growled pinching Dean's arm, but the larger man grinned, "Come on ride 'em cowboy." Castiel let his head fall back rising and lower himself on Dean's dick with fierce concentration. Dean appreciated his attention to detail and came with a loud groan. Castiel continued to ride him as Dean grasped the other man's dick in his hand and began jerking him off. The Russian shot his load across Dean's chest and slumped down almost bonelessly.

They lay together as the sweat cooled on their bodies and Dean was enveloped in a deep feeling of peace and contentment that he had not had in a long time. Casting a quick glance at the other man he noted Castiel's self satisfied smile and nudged him in the ribs. Castiel muttered something Russian that Dean was sure was a curse or insult but the smaller man rolled onto one side then quietly slipped his head onto Dean's shoulder letting his eyes fall close.

After they had showered and eaten a light breakfast of pastries that Castiel had picked up from a bakery down the street Dean settled at the kitchen table with a newspaper scouring the ads for apartment listings. As much as he loved this place with the taciturn Russian it wasn't going to last forever and like it or not Dean was going to have to move out. Still as he glanced over the top of the newsprint at the other man moving around the kitchen, straightening up the dishes and putting together a grocery shopping list Dean felt his stomach hollow out. That empty feeling settling deep into his bones. He sighed and turned back to the page in his hands.

Finally Castiel dropped into a chair tapping the newspaper and Dean shot him a look over the top of the page, "So did you find apartment?"

The query sounded casual enough but Dean could sense an underlying edge to it. Shrugging he sighed, "No, nothing really looks good.'

He shot Castiel a smile, not adding that anything he found would be lacking one important thing. The other man. Kicking himself silently Dean folded the paper laying it down on the table, "So what's on the agenda for the day?"

Castiel seemed to visibly relax at Dean's proclamation that nothing in the ads had interested him. He smiled tapping the sheets, "Well, maybe later huh? I go to see TV people today. At KTLA…"

Castiel said and Dean could almost see the capital letters. He chuckled. Castiel waved a dismissive hand, "Don't laugh. TV show pay for new paint on walls, and maybe new carpets, huh?"

"Yeah, maybe." Dean sighed again. Castiel slapped him on the arm.

"You come to TV show with me, so I don't have to sit at meeting alone? After we go to LA Live and eat lunch maybe at Katsuya? Or ESPNzone… good Kobe beef sliders."

The meeting with the people at the television station went extremely well, and Castiel came out with a contract to sell screen rights to all twenty-two books he had written so far as the first season scripts for a television show to air on Channel Five. He was inordinate pleased with himself for the rest of the day and babbled to Dean in his broken English all through lunch and well into the evening. Dean just sat back and let the constant flow of words wash over him in soothing waves. He ate burgers at ESPNzone and watched some football, with Castiel's chatter ever present in the background and realized that he could get very used to it. And that gave him that funny twisted feeling inside again, but he brushed it off.

And for four days Dean woke to Castiel in his arms every morning, the sleep warmed scent of him strong but familiar and welcoming in a way that nothing else in his life had ever been. And for four days Castiel chattered like a monkey, danced around the apartment with frenetic energy and sat up late at night with a mug of coffee by his elbow typing away on his next book while Dean dozed on the sofa with the television playing low in the background. The Russian's jabbering lulling him to sleep until finally he rose tugging the smaller man by the arm until they tumbled into bed for frantic sex and sleepy cuddling.

Friday morning dawned clear and bright and Dean rolled over to a face full of soft dark hair and an extremely warm body. Casually he reached out stroking hand up and down Castiel's back and the other man arched into the touch murmuring softly in his sleep. Dean grinned. "Hey come on. You can have first shower this morning since it's your big day and all."

Castiel frowned, the little "I want" line forming between his brows and Dean leaned over to kiss the frown away. Castiel offered him a lopsided grin. "We can share."

Dean watched as Castiel dressed nervously in a somewhat ill fitting black suit and navy blue tie. He rubbed his fingers through his hair at least a half a dozen times leaving it even more tousled than ever. And finally he tugged at the tie leaving it slightly askew. Dean himself felt less nervous, he had come to terms with the fact that he wanted his relationship with the bohemian Russian so he didn't even remotely have to lie. He knew it was just a dream anyway. As soon as they made it through this interview Castiel would get his green card and Dean would be on his way out of this life and back to his solitary existence. He briefly thought about blowing the interview so that they would have to do another one and maybe give himself some time with the other man but that wouldn't be fair to Castiel.

Besides the Russian had not given any indication that he wanted this marriage thing to be permanent and even then Dean had a lousy track record with permanent. His past relationships including his three year 'engagement' to Lisa Breaden were proof positive of that. And Dean just couldn't' reconcile himself to being 'gay'

In his line of work he had seen how the other men at the station reacted to gay fire-fighters and Dean wasn't sure that he wanted to fight that, and deal with trying to keep a relationship with Castiel going as well. It was better just to make a clean break of it now. And he could start over.

Just a few minutes after breakfast there was a knock at the door. Dean was still finishing off the last of the dishes when Castiel took a deep breath going to the entryway to answer the knock. A small woman wearing a severe suit and horn-rimmed glasses was standing on the other side. Castiel took one look at her a retreated to the sofa for safety. Nervously he stuck out a hand and she shook it, three no-nonsense pumps up and down and released him like he was an animal she was releasing back into the wild. He almost staggered back from the impact.

She sniffed shuffling through her briefcase for a few moments before pulling out a sheaf of papers. "Uhmmm, Castiel…Kuryakin? Is that correct?"

Castiel bit down on his cheek to stifle his insane urge to giggle uncontrollably, "Yes…Is correct."

She shot him a look over the top of the pages, "And your husband's name is Dean, Winchester?"

"Yeah," Dean said from the door leading out of the living room into the kitchen. He threw the dish towel he was carrying over one shoulder and strode into the room holding a hand aloft. The woman pulled back slightly before grasping his hand as well, "I'm pleased to meet you…"

"Ms. Wilson," she said smiling. "Well, your paper work all seems to be in order. I just need to do a quick on site interview. But I see that you two have settled in here well."

Nodding Dean slid onto the sofa beside the smaller man. He didn't wrap an arm around Castiel just sat side by side, their knees knocking together briefly when they shifted to look at each other. For some reason that made Ms. Wilson smile more than any overt show of affection.

She sighed, "You look comfortable together."

Castiel glanced at Dean then that tiny little half smiled lit his face. "More than I thought I would be."

"Really why is that?'

Sighing Castiel made a gesture with his hand, "In Russia where I come from. It doesn't pay to get too comfortable, you understand. Always you look over shoulder, hey?"

Ms. Wilson nodded, "And here?"

"Here with Dean, I don't look over shoulder. I don't need too."

"And what about you Dean?"

"Well," he began then stopped flustered, "When I moved in here I thought I was just getting a place to live, but now I feel like I have a home. Cas, gave me that, a real home…somewhere to come to after a long hard shift, somebody to come to. You know." Dean stopped blushing furiously. And she smiled.

"Well, gentlemen everything seems to be in order. I'm going to go ahead and process your paperwork. Mr. Kuryakin you should have your permanent alien resident card in the mail in the next week or so. I'll leave you with the temporary card you have and a certificate that I'm going to sign stating your paperwork is processing. Good luck."

Castiel stood at the window watching as Ms. Wilson walked across the lawn and to her car. He waited until she had driven out of sight before he staggered back to the sofa. Dean grabbed him by the hand pulling the smaller man in for a hug. Castiel leaned back catching Dean's mouth in a kiss then pushing him back against the sofa. They tumbled down together.

Castiel rolled them over until he was lying on the sofa on his back with Dean above him. Dean grinned grinding his hips down against the smaller man until Castiel was panting. The Russian pushed up worming a hand between then to get his trousers unfastened. Dean raised himself on his knees and elbows just giving the other man enough room to work their pants open. He could feel a sharp blast of cool air against the heated flesh of his erection then Castiel was pulling them together, until their cocks nudged and bumped against one another.

Dean kept it fast and dirty, rubbing against Castiel until both of them were groaning. He thought that Castiel might have tried to get him to stop at least once but he was so wrung out and high with their success that he just kept pressing forward until finally, Castiel let out a shout and Dean felt a warm rush of wet heat against his belly. Castiel lay panting as Dean thrust against his softening flesh until his own climax washed over him.

They snuggled up together as much as the limited space the sofa provided until Castiel let out a laugh. Dean snorted sighing before rising to his feet offering the other man a hand up. They staggered to the bathroom together.

Dressed in clean clothes and freshly bathed the two men settled down at the kitchen table cleaning up the left-overs they had brought home from the restaurant the day before. As Dean ate he perused the classified ads still looking over the apartment listings but Castiel never asked if he had found anything. Dean cast a sideways glance at the other man, "I have to go to the station in the morning."

Castiel nodded, "But you come home Tuesday? I go to San Diego tomorrow. My Bubbe own second building on Harbor Boulevard. I go one time every month to check maintenance and look at books see rent is collected."

"When you say your 'bubbe' owned you mean you own it now."

Castiel shrugged, "Yes and I owned this one too until we sold apartment as condos. Now I own this apartment and building in San Diego. I go Saturday night come home Sunday morning, plenty of time to do shopping before you come home Tuesday, yes."

Dean sighed, "Cas we need to talk about my finding another place…"

Castiel paused frowning. Dean noticed that little 'I want' line furling his brow, "What to talk about? You like it here? I like it here…no problem."

"Cas," Dean said, but a little nagging voice in the back of his head told him to shut up. The other man wasn't asking for anything more than Dean was giving right now. Maybe that could be enough. But another little voice that sounded a lot like his annoying little brother was yelping at him that this wasn't fair to Castiel. Dean couldn't just keep taking and not standing up like a man. Castiel was regarding Dean with his huge blue, blue eyes a tiny frown playing over his lips and Dean caved in. "Yeah no problems."

Still as he packed Dean kept up a running dialog with the annoying psychotic voice lurking in his brain that kept telling Dean it wasn't okay for him to be happy with Castiel, that Dean couldn't do relationships well. That this was all going to end because Castiel couldn't possibly feel for Dean what Dean felt for him. Besides Dean had never had a long term relationship with a man, the guys at the station who knew he was Bi at least also knew Dean kept up a long string of one night stands with women as well. At least they would tolerate the occasional male thrown in the mix that way. This marriage thing was a whole new world. And Dean wasn't sure he was ready to be the poster boy for gay equality in the work place in the LAFD.

Dean walked through the doors of Station 51 some fifteen minutes after leaving the apartment. Castiel had still been in the bedroom, his duffle thrown carelessly across the foot of the bed where he had been tossing a few things for his weekend trip to San Diego.

Dean had leaned over the slightly smaller man from behind kissing the shell of his ear. "Have fun," he had whispered then shook himself. But Castiel had thrown him that tiny half-smile and winked. As Dean gathered his coat and wallet from the dresser he watched Castiel muttering to himself and walked out the door.

Castiel called out to Dean, "Be careful." as he heard the door swing closed. Finally satisfied with what he had packed the Russian grabbed his bag carrying it to the front door. Just as he was about to leave the mailman appeared and Castiel waited patiently for him to dispense the various envelopes carefully separating his mail and the few things for Dean.

He also found a large manila envelope from his attorney with the divorce packet filled out all ready to be signed. Carefully he sat it aside hoping that when Dean returned after his shift they could throw the papers into the fireplace and watch them burn. Smiling he gathered his wallet and phone. He would catch the train to San Diego and call himself a cab at the station.

When he set the unimportant mail down on the table by the door Castiel saw Dean's phone still in the wicker basket he had set there. Grumbling he grabbed the phone shoving it into his jacket pocket and picked up the other man's mail. He would just drop them off to Dean at the Station and maybe stop by the corner bakery for some pastries for the men. Dean would like that and Castiel would get a chance to finally meet some of Dean's friends. It probably wouldn't be as much of a shock to meet the firefighters for him as it had been for Dean to meet, Becky Rosen, Castiel's editor.

It only took a few minutes to walk done the corner to the bakery. He settled at the table for a cup of coffee and a Danish for himself then had the clerk bag up three dozen pastries for the fire crew. He thought that at any given time there were maybe twelve men at the station.

Balancing the three large bags and his coffee and his IPhone Castiel made his way the rest of the way down the block and around the corner to the Fire Station. He saw the largest of the three engines parked in the cement turn around in front of the station with several men checking equipment. Hesitantly Castiel approached one of the men who turned glaring at him.

"Yeah, what do you want?"

Swallowing nervously Castiel said, "I need to speak to Dean…Winchester. He forgot his phone, and I brought these for the men here."

"You work at the bakery?" the man asked just as Dean came out of the door. Castiel turned smiling.

"What's the matter, Gordon?" Dean asked then he frowned when he saw Castiel standing there offering the other man the bags. Castiel sighed with relief.

'"You forgot your phone," he thrust the bags into Dean's arms then retrieved the phone from the pocket of his jacket also pushing it in Dean's direction. Dean winced at the speculative look on Gordon Walker's face. Gordon reached into one of the bags withdrawing a large pastry.

"So Winchester who's your little friend?"

Dean flinched as Castiel pulled himself up to his full height which was still several inches shorter than Walker. Gordon sneered but Castiel merely scoffed, "Dean is my husband."

Gordon stiffened then grinning turning to Dean, "Husband? Well, well…Winchester I didn't know you had yourself a little Russian mail-order bride. And he's so sweet."

"Shut up, Gordon," Dean said stiffly. Quickly he grabbed Castiel by the arm pulling the smaller man along behind him down the driveway. "Cas, what the hell are you doing here?"

"I bring your phone. You forgot and get pastry for your friends. I thought I meet people you work with." Castiel said sharply. Dean cringed glancing behind them at the small knot of men quickly gathering in the cement driveway. The same men who were staring intently at the two arguing men but still passing the bags of bakery products between themselves and munching away.

Smiling Castiel leaned in giving Dean a quick little kiss on the cheek. There was a concerted gasp from the little crowd and Dean hastily shoved the Russian away, "Look you're not supposed to come down here."

Cocking his head Castiel studied Dean as if he was some alien life form, "Only for firemen? But have seen women, maybe wives or girlfriend here? Why not me?"

"Yeah," Gordon snickered, "Why not your girlfriend there, Winchester."

Dean shot him a glare, and then grasped Castiel by the arm, "It's not the same. You are not my wife or girlfriend. We're only doing this so I can have a free place to live and you know why…it doesn't mean anything else. Got it?"

Castiel winced and Dean was hit by the solid look of hurt in the other man's blue eyes. Swallowing hard Castiel nodded staggering back. He quickly walked down the driveway. Dean drew a deep breath feeling his stomach clench. He wanted to run after the other man, gather Castiel into his arms instead he just stood as the small group of fire fighters turned back to the station and Castiel disappeared around the corner.

Dean watched him go until he felt a hand on his shoulder, "Didn't know you were a queer, Winchester."

Dean whirled grabbing Walker by the front of the shirt and shoving him back against the fire engine. Walker's head connected with the metal with a sharp clang and he jerked his shirt out of Dean's hands swinging a right cross. He managed to clip Dean on the chin before two other men grabbed him pulling them apart.

Captain Singer strode across the driveway pulling Dean around. "That's enough, both of you. Gordon, shut your bigoted homophobic mouth and Winchester you ever hit another man on my watch again you'll be doing kitchen duty for the next four months."

Walker shrugged off the restraining hands of his two fellow fire fighters grumbling as he disappeared into the fire station. Dean stood panting as Captain Singer turned the younger man's head looking at the faint bruise beginning to form on his lower jaw, "Looks like he clipped you a good one."

Dean shook off the older man's hands, "It's okay."

Captain Singer sighed, "Dean, I try real hard to stay out of my men's private lives. You're not my son and I'm not qualified to give fatherly advice…'

"Yeah, so don't."

"But," Singer said with a grin, and Dean closed his eyes sighing, "I've known you boys all your lives and your Daddy for long before you were born. So I guess since he's not here to kick some sense into your ass it falls on me. So you got yourself a boyfriend so what? You think matters a good goddamn to the folks who really care about you? Me maybe or Sam?"

Dean shrugged looking down at the ground, "I guess."

Singer smiled, "For the last three weeks I've seen you come in here with a smile on your face. I ain't seen that since Sam left for Stanford. If this boy…"

"Castiel, but I call him Cas."

"Well, if Cas is the reason for that then what the hell are you doing screwin' that up?"

"I just don't think he feels that way about me. I don't want him to feel obligated you know because of the green card thing."

"Bullshit, you're scared shitless because you love him. And damn it Dean I saw the look on his face when you told him to get lost. You just about killed that boy."

Blinking Dean looked the older man straight in the face, "I didn't think…"

"Well, ain't that a surprise," Singer snorted and Dean shot him a look. "You know what, Ramirez called me and he wanted to come in today and tomorrow so he could have this weekend off to go to his sister's wedding. I told him to get his ass down here. We'll cover for you until he gets here. You get your behind home and tell that boy you're sorry. Hear me?"

Quickly Dean ran into the stationhouse and grabbed his bag. Quickly he changed out of his uniform carefully hanging his clothes up in his locker. He threw on a jacket stuffing his phone into his pocket. If he hurried maybe he could make it up to Castiel and take him out to lunch.

He practically ran down the street to the apartment and up the front stairs. When he turned his key in the lock Dean was struck by the absolute stillness in the room. The living room was dark, curtains drawn, no sunlight pouring into the room.

"Cas," Dean shouted, but the sound echoed back to him and Dean knew the apartment was empty.

He hurried to the bedroom and then the kitchen finding no sign of the Russian. Finally Dean settled onto the sofa drawing his phone out of his pocket. He was just about to punch in Castiel's number when Dean caught sight of a stack of neatly typed pages on the table. Leaning down he picked them up. His breath caught in his chest. They were the divorce papers, all neatly executed in Castiel's small, precise hand. Dean leafed through the papers, each page was signed. He scanned the contents and was horrified to see that Castiel had listed all the debts they incurred over the past month as his own debts, even those things they had purchased together for Dean's use. The other man had also listed all his credit card bills as his sole responsibility even the things they had charged at the mall for Dean and the plane tickets and hotel bill for the trip to Seattle for the wedding.

A single slip of paper fell out of the sheaf of court documents. More of Castiel's neat tiny block printing, paper clipped to a check drawn on Castiel's account for the filing fees. Dean flipped the note up reading the contents.

_Dean, _

_I am sorry for embarrass you at station. I have signed all papers. All you need do is sign and take to court. I include a check for filing fee. Please sign and file papers for divorce. I stay in San Diego until you get off shift and find place. Please to be gone at end of week._

_Cas._

Dropping the paperwork Dean stared at his hands. With a snarl he grabbed the sheaf of papers tossing them into the fireplace, leaving it unlit but waiting for later. He shifted, pulling out his phone but, of course, Castiel's number went straight to voicemail. Dean didn't bother leaving a message. Carefully he folded his phone. Walking slowly he went to the bedroom pulling his duffel out of the closet. Then Dean settled down on the bed. Leaning back he fell over onto his back then rolled onto his side grasping the pillow. It still smelled of Castiel's scent, warm and inviting.

Sitting up Dean straightened his clothes then rose. Castiel had said that the apartment building he owned in San Diego was on Harbor Boulevard, and Cas would be taking the train since he didn't drive. It was an hour trip and the other man was probably still at the station or at best had just left the city. If Dean hit the Five Freeway he could make it San Diego well before the train. He'd find that building if he had to drive every inch of Harbor Boulevard and stop at every apartment complex on the way.

Traffic on the Five Freeway was murder. Dean sat, fuming, clenching the steering wheel in a strangle hold, muttering curses under his breath. A few times he had cranked down the window and shouted profanities at the car in front of him. Except the thing had been playing some God awful rap music with the bass turned up so much the broke-ass vehicle had been rocking precariously and Dean only drew the attention, and ire, of a passing CHP officer on his electric-glide cycle. Which was way cooler than anything the LAFD had to offer, and Dean had huddled down in his seat offering the cop a silent, 'ok officer…I'll go quietly' look and the guy let it slide.

Suddenly the blue and red flashers went on and the CHP cop took off on the shoulder like his ass was on fire. Dean heaved a sigh of relief. The last thing he needed was to end up in jail instead of Castiel's arms tonight.

When Dean made the final exit off the freeway and onto Harbor Boulevard he could see what the holdup had been. Far off down in the distance a huge cloud of black smoke was roiling on the horizon. Dean tracked the flashing traffic lights down the street, five blocks, coming up with a mental map in his head. That put the fire right in the first residential zone on Harbor leading into the business distract just on the outskirts of San Diego.

Residential Zone flashed in Dean's mind in capital letters. Residential as in apartment buildings and suddenly the anger faded from Dean's mind to be replaced with mind-numbing fear. Apartments as in Castiel might be in one of them at that very moment. Dean's mouth went dry and he heaved a cough.

Throwing his car into overdrive Dean headed off the road onto the shoulder muscling his way past the traffic, by virtue of the fact that the '67 Impala was a beast in comparison to the modern Toyotas and Hondas littering the street.

As the Impala neared the building Dean could make out the various fire crews working the fire. He caught sight of the yellow suits of the San Diego fire department co-mingled with blue suits from a small local Border Patrol fire fighting unit.

Pulling his car off to the side of the road outside of the barricades Dean ducked around heading toward the man he recognized as the San Diego Station one-eleven captain. The older man held up a hand, "Sorry, sir, but you can't be in here…"

Flashing him a smile Dean said, "I'm Dean Winchester Station Fifty-one from L.A. I thought I might be able to suit up and help."

The captain shook his head, "It's pretty much under control. One of the units in this small building was vacant and some homeless guys were squatting in it last night. They decided to light a fire in the place."

"Any survivors?"

The captain smiled wiping the sweat off his brow, "Yeah they all did. The owner went in after them and pulled the guys out before a beam fell on him. The paramedics are talking with him now, but they're having a rough time. The guy keeps speaking some damned foreign language or something…"

Dean groaned, "Russian…it's Russian."

"Yeah…how'd you know that?"

"That's my boyfriend." Dean said as he watched the paramedics wheel a gurney toward an ambulance. He nodded briefly to the captain then ran for the two men and the prone figure they were loading inside. "Hold up," Dean shouted.

The two paramedics paused one turned, "What's the matter? We got to get this guy to the ER. Is there a problem?"

"Please, I need to speak to him." Dean said and the paramedic shrugged looking back at Castiel. The Russian sighed glancing up at Dean.

"Hello, Dean."

Stooping over Dean took Castiel's hand in his, "Cas, are you okay? Why'd you go in for them?"

"I couldn't let them burn to death." Castiel said with a grimace. Dean quickly leaned over flipping the blanket back to inspect the other man's arm. Castiel had a few small burns on his arm, shoulder and chest but he appeared to be okay. "The smoke get to you?" he asked.

Castiel nodded, "Yes, it was so hot. Why are you here?"

"I had to come. Captain Singer gave me a couple of days off. I had to find you and say I'm sorry Cas. Sorry for the way I acted at the station. Gordon Walker just pisses me off, and I took it out on you. Please Cas I don't want a divorce. I want us to be together."

Castiel swallowed, "I don't know. You didn't stand up for me. We should stand up for each other. I…"

"Please Cas, I….I love you."

Castiel gasped. A smile broke across his face and the smaller man seized Dean's shirt with surprising strength pulling the other man forward until their lips crashed together. Dean grasped Castiel gently by the arm, trying to avoid the burns and scrapes. He slid a hand up Castiel's shoulder lacing his fingers in the thick dark mass of hair. Swallowing his pride Dean leaned into the kiss mapping every inch of the other man's mouth with his tongue.

The sound of a throat cleaning brought Dean back to his senses, "Look buddy, he's already got low blood gasses so give him some air."

Blushing crimson Dean leaned back gently cupping Castiel's jaw in his hand, "Cas you've got to let them take you to the emergency room. I'll follow the ambulance and meet you there. Okay?"

Castiel looked a little lost, grasping Dean's hand he said, and "You will be there, at hospital?"

"Yes, I will be at hospital," Dean said mimicking Castiel's heavy accent. The smaller man flipped him off and Dean chuckled. Shaking their heads the paramedics loaded the gurney into the ambulance and closed the doors.

Castiel stood at the door of the apartment. He had been home from the hospital for a week now, and Dean was scheduled to come off his long shift that night. Captain Singer had been concerned when he had heard that the Russian was in the hospital, and insisted that Dean take another day off, so he had arranged for Dean to come in on Wednesday. Dean had worked seven days on to make up for the lost shift, even thought the other fire fighters had said they didn't mind taking up the empty slot on the shifts. Castiel had stayed in San Diego at the hospital until this morning, and then, over Dean's objections, he had taken the train back to Los Angeles. And really his injuries were minor. He hadn't even needed the hospital stay, but Dean had insisted since he wouldn't be home to help the other man out.

Castiel had finally checked himself out of the hospital and grabbed a cab to the train station. He called Dean from the train and he could hear the other man's mind churning a mile a minute, worrying already that Castiel might collapse on the way home. It had both warmed him and annoyed him to no end, but it also left Castiel feeling satisfied that Dean loved him.

They had some things to talk about when Dean got home, and some things to work out. The first thing Dean had said needed doing was for Castiel to meet Sam, Dean's younger brother. So this weekend they were driving to Palo Alto, to Stanford University for the big reveal, as Dean termed it. Castiel had just smiled.

The door opened and Castiel swung around. Dean was standing in the doorway. Dropping his duffel on the floor he hurried across the room gathering the smaller man into his arms. Castiel laughed as Dean buried his head in the crook of his shoulder heaving in a deep breath.

"God! I missed you so much, Cas." Pulling the Russian close Dean dove in for the first of a series of kisses. Finally when both men were panting and out of breath he stepped back. Castiel clutched at Dean's shirt holding the other man close to himself, breathing in his scent.

Sighing Dean closed his eyes, "I wished you had stayed at the hospital and let me come to pick you up. I hate the idea of you riding the train so soon after getting out."

Castiel scoffed, "I hate the hospital even more. I wanted to be home when you got here. I wanted to be with you as soon as possible."

Dean smiled, "I missed you so much, Cas."

Clearing his throat Castiel slapped at Dean, "Go get shower. I make lunch."

"Make it fast then. We need to get on the road. Sammy can't wait to meet you."

Castiel turned a slight frown on his face, "You said you tell him when we get there."

"Well, I called him last night. I wanted to tell him all about you. He's happy, Cas. He's happy that I'm happy. So I can't wait for you two to meet. "

"Are you sure, Dean?"

Pulling the other man into a tight hug, Dean squeezed Castiel, and then rubbed his arms. "I've never been surer of anything in my entire life."

The End


End file.
